Learning to Love
by Superagaentv
Summary: A short piece from Fenris' point of view


**This was something playing on my mind - it had to take so much for a tortured slave of magic to fall in love with a mage like Hawke - he must have been lost and confused only to find solace with another soul as strong and broken as he was. I hope you all enjoy!**

His wildest dreams could never have prepared him for the look in her eyes as he appeared from the darkness; her face covering blood and dirt – he could not decide if she had red hair or not, only flecks of blonde seemed to appear in the moonlight. She had eyed him suspiciously, her fingers twitched and he instantly hated the ally of his; a mage – the Maker had a sense of humor. She held her staff carefully, but she fastened it on her back easily; relaxing as she did so.

She was tall, as tall as he was, with strong high cheekbones. Her eyes burned a golden hazel, blood covering many freckles, with lips of rose. She was not little, she had long legs that held strength, broad shoulders that spoke of a physic of a warrior. Her staff held a blade at the end, it dripped blood – no doubt it had pierced the skin of many the men who mistakenly thought he could best her.

The male mage behind her did not like the elf warrior, that much was obvious, he had seemed somewhat possessive of the woman, even then. Since that moment, Anders had never liked him, but that was irrelevant. They had fought against his enemies, she was quick and strong, her magic was a force to be reckoned with. Fenris had joined her party, in spite of himself and his distrust of mages – she was like a light in the darkness.

As the months had gone on, his worries about slavers had come true; mages and dishonorable men alike – and yet she had defending him and his values, fought like the very devil himself – and he didn't understand the feeling it gave him. As the lyrium lit up his body, his mind turning to rage in a blind fury, he could feel the strength of her magic as an enemy at his back fell before he could strike. And when he was running out of energy – he felt his own life force being renewed.

He did not fear her or distrust her, nor flinch at the flow of power in her hands. As he travelled with her, met her friends and talked with them; he saw her in a new light. Varric was the most ridiculous of the group; his tales of Hawke bordered on complete fantasy – and yet the bond between them was stronger than he ever thought two people should be. Merrill was an elf like himself, yet she was no doubt too sweet to be considered a threat; Hawke knew she dabbled in the arcane and disliked it. Aveline was the most practical, she fought with the memory of her husband by her side, a strength he admired. Isabella was a feisty woman that emanated desire and sexuality – slowly falling under Hawke's spell of honor and morality. Anders was purely crazy, at in Fenris' own opinion, he watched Hawke too intensely and too frequently – which inspired a feeling Fenris did not understand.

Sitting in his home, the darkness being chased away by the fire reminded him of her eyes – they burned in his mind. She had lovely eyes, strong and wild – filled with a determination he knew all too well. She came to comfort him, just to sit and listen as he raged about his life, she offered him a chance to vent his feelings to a friend. But she was just so much more than that. Her hair was the colour of sunshine, a dark gold that never left the bun she tied; but he had seen her once as he strolled outside her mansion one evening. She had been standing by a window, her hair down past her shoulders as she watched the moon. The woman of such strength, the people's champion (in spirit only); hated by the reigning powers that be – she looked lonely in that great house.

He sighed, his thoughts routinely went to slavers and to her; more frequently of her of late. She had found book and brought it to him, offering to teach him to read. And she had, she had found as many things as possible to give him; always making sure he had something new to discover. He enjoyed it, sitting next to her on the floor by the fire as she watched him read the book aloud – an awkward stumbling thing at first, but she had always given him a smile and a nod to indicate he was fine. She always smelled of fresh air and spices, his favorite was when she smelled of earthy flower – the mix of pine, and leaves with the flowery hue made an impression on him.

Fenris put his hand on his chin, his arm resting on the armrest of his seat. He could not get the image of her smiling out his head, or the sound of her laughter when Varric told a story about her bravery – she hated it. She was not in it for glory as he had suspected, she helped people – surprising him at each moment when she sides with Templars. She herself, had been an apostate in Ferelden – but the number of blood mages they had encountered had taken it's toll on the beautiful fighter. She was nothing and everything like the stories about her, Varric always had one thing right on the money – her character.

Brave.

Fiery.

Strong,

Beautiful.

Feminine

Spectacular.

He stood suddenly, his mind to full of her to fully comprehend the feeling. He paced for a while as his emtions twisted inside him. Was this lust or a deeper feeling? He wanted her, every part of him wished to deny this feeling, he didn't have time to pursue her; he didn't deserve her. But he needed her. He needed that smile to remind him that he was alive. He wanted her eyes to shine as he read. He wanted to feel the slight touch of her hand when she thought he wasn't looking or paying attention, it felt to warm and yet it felt as if he was on fire.

Fenris walked to the door, not bothering to lock it – he had nothing to steal. He didn't need to think of the direction of her house, he knew it by heart. How many nights had he spent making sure she was protected, watching over her just to be safe. What if his own past threatened her? He could not imagine a world without her in it, even if she didn't return the feelings – but he couldn't have been imagining it.

He saw the light go on and he walked to the door, opening it. He saw her turn, her hands just untying her mane. "Fenris?" She asked, watching him with an amused expression.

He walked toward her, his face looking at the floor before meeting her eyes. "I have been of you. I have been able to think of little else. Tell me to go, and I shall."

Her lips parted slightly as she shook her head. "No need."

He closed the gap before she finished the words, engulfing her with a kiss as well as his arms – and she returned the kiss with as much passion as he gave. She tasted like peaches and pie, he of wine and roasted meat. Breaking apart, she grasped him, pushing him against a wall as a smile flickered across their faces. They lingered there for some time, his hands in her hair – feeling the softness and the scent – hers cupping his face. For a moment his pain and panic was chased away by the firelight as he carried her to the bedroom.

/

He hated himself for forgetting his purpose, and even more for leaving her. The night had been amazing, she was amazing – her body, her mind – it all just was too much. The look on her face as he left, her attempt to hide the hurt in humor. And yet the night replayed in his mind every night, every moment. He tried to focus on his original plan, what he was searching for.

Hawke had said nothing, she treated him normally – even bringing him books – but she didn't stay. She had not asked him to join her on any missions, and to his knowledge she had not even gone on any for a while. They all went drinking, Merrill was as nice as ever - Varric seemed to look at Fenris with an odd expression that he could not interpret easily. Aveline was being courted by her lover, something Hawke had taken great pride on helping her friend in that situation.

Fenris watched her when he could, she looked tired, but she still laughed and smiled with her friends. Hawke caught him once, and she had only smiled at him softly for a moment before changing her expression to something unreadable.

He heard a sound and his door opened, Isabella appeared with a smile – she winked at him and he shook his head. "I can't."

"That's not why I am here, Hawke needs us." The woman said with a wink. "But good to know I have been on your mind,"

"Hawke?" He blinked as he stood, a strange feeling of guilt and surprise entering into his body. "I would have thought-

"Did you guys have a fight or something?" The woman asked, sitting suggestively in a chair. "You barely spoken to her these last few months."

"What's the misson?" He asked, diverting the topic. The look on Isabella's face darkened, and he watched her carefully.

"You remember the missing women?" Isabella asked, and he grunted a response like she was idiot. "Hawke's mom is missing." He said nothing, his heart beating quickly in his ears as he grabbed his sword. He rushed to the door, the footsteps and voice of the woman landed on deaf ears as he sprinted to Hawke's side, Isabella did not even need to tell him where she would be.

He saw her face and felt the sadness that laid behind her eyes. Varric nodded at him, and his eyes flickered to the woman he loved as she led the charge through the streets, following a trail of blood. Hawke didn't cry, she didn't even blink.

It was worse than he had expected, but Hawke fought as hard as she could to save her. They had not made it in time; and it was the first time he had seen her so defeated. Her eyes held the emotion while she held her mother in her arms, speaking a final goodbye – watching the life leave the deformed creature. It was then she stood, turning to her friends as she marched from the building covered in blood. She reported the incident to Aveline, who immediately sent men out to the warehouse, Hawke just stood waiting for the confirmation of the report, giving evidence again and again.

He had waited until she had gone home, he knew he had to go even if he didn't know what to say. She was sitting in her bedroom, she as refusing to cry. After everything; Bethany and Carver and now her mother – she still wouldn't let it go. He sat next to her, and she closed her eyes as she felt his arm go around her gently, pulling her into an embrace. She started to cry as her fingers found his waist, she spoke nonsense and hurt; and he could offer her nothing in return except for a few words about forgiveness that sounded cruel even to him.

He didn't know how long she cried for, he only know that he had to leave in the morning, despite wanting to stay. He knew she was hurting, just as he was – but she had helped to heal his wounds – now he had to seal away his anger. He touched her hair, her skin – her eyes fluttered open sometimes and as she cried through the nightmares – and it was then he held her through the night. He kept her close, wiping the tears as they fell. She woke once, kissing him with a strange hunger that beckoned to them both. He kissed her back – it was savage and wild this time, but midway to turned to a different kind of love making – it was slow and emotion filled – and it brought tears to his eyes as they made love until the sun rose. Morning came too fast, for it meant they had to leave this world behind.


End file.
